Sauna
by Sand Cursive
Summary: He thinks of the way her hair moves in gentle waves as she walks, and it reminds him of the sand lying beneath shallower water.   I'm putting M because I'm paranoid, even though in the end the rating is probably going to be, like, T at worst .


The first time he saw her, it was raining.

He'd decided to stay the night at the cave - unable to go to Atlantis, still too tired, and raw, and lonely – and he'd tossed in the sheets of the strange, stiff, surface bed and felt impossibly heavy. He didn't know why he thought it would help, but he'd gotten up and walked to the zeta tubes, the gravity weighing on his shoulders and making him feel like he was sinking, slowly – about to be compressed against the cold concrete floor.

It didn't matter where they took him; he just needed to be away. Stepping through, he let them take him to the last set coordinates, mind at odds both blank and filled with an incredible, incomprehensible noise.

When he steps out, the foreign night sounds of city life assault him so suddenly that it manages to shock him out of his strange trance. He blinks slowly, owlishly, in the dark as it's interrupted by dim, flickering lights and wide, sweeping arcs of brightness and colour. He's standing in an alleyway, beside what appears to be an old, out of service phone booth.

His feet pick hesitant steps in his awkward sandals, trekking cautiously over the uneven ground. The area is littered with all manner of different fixtures of city life – empty beer bottles, take-out containers and – he notes with some confusion – three new tire treads propped against a metal garbage can.

He breathes in the air, and suddenly his mind calms. He can smell it – feel it in every pore. The air is heavy with moisture and he walks slowly to the mouth of the alley and stands, transfixed, as the pregnant clouds above open.

* * *

><p>He walks through the strange, disjointed, suspended ocean with calm and purpose, despite not knowing where he's going or what he's even doing here. The cold sting of rain is neutralized by the way his skin immediately absorbs the moisture, and he thinks, <em>perhaps this might be my new underwater city.<em> The buildings are grimy and colourful, like obtuse, sharp coral reefs, blending into the road and the dark night sky.

His mind is drifting in the sea of his thoughts, and it's some time before he realizes just how far he's wandered. The sounds of city life are so distant and soft, it's as though he's hearing it from someplace submerged and blanketed, as if from beneath deep water. He's allowed his feet to carry him without direction or goal, and he silently curses himself for being so careless. The roads are wider here, with barely any buildings along the length of it, and he recognizes nothing. He's lost. He turns back to face the city and sees the bright parade of lights in the distance, so strange, so festive.

He stands still for a moment, trying to goad a path from his memory when the flash of burnished gold catches his eye. It's the damp head of hair of a girl standing, vulnerable and unprotected beneath a streetlight, watching the rain. His first instinct is to approach her and attempt to usher her someplace warm and dry – cold and wet is not the ideal climate for someone of the surface world – but he is stopped when he catches sight of the rain. The drops are impossibly fat and slow, and when he looks through them, he can see the world inverted, captured in each tiny window. A million upside-down, wet cities. It's breathtaking.

In each one, there is the girl, standing like a sentry on what appears to be the outskirts of the surface world, the city - open and bright and strangely warm and inviting despite the dark - waiting just behind her. From this distance, and with the added benefit of the water, his eyes feel sharper, more alert, and he can just make out the heavy drops clinging to her golden lashes. But her expression baffles him. He cannot tell whether or not she is upset, or sad, or happy, or just simply numb. And he stares so intently that it's a wonder she hasn't felt his eyes on her, attempting to bore holes into hers, attempting to reach into her mind and discover what it holds. He has never met someone so capable of concealing their emotions.

He stands still, silent, watching, until the girl and all her magical miniatures turn and walk up a side road. And he stands for a moment and waits for one, two breaths, before he turns and wanders back into the heart of the city.

It takes him an hour and a half to find the phone booth again. The alleys here are nearly identical, and all house that strange mix of desperation and sadness and danger. It's remarkable that he manages to find it at all. Even then it's too late, he thinks, to bother his teammates with the sound of his arrival. So he sits and waits until the first light breaks through the sky. The city sounds haven't changed at all.

The city will always be the most alien part of the surface world.

. . .

**_Author's Note: _**_For those of you who were wondering, I ship them so hard. And the reason is kind of stupid. I was talking to my friend one day about how Kaldur doesn't get enough action, and we were talking about people he might be able to hook up with so to speak. And I was talking about Bette Kane, and how she's Flamebird, and my friend said, completely off-handedly, "That would be perfect! Flamebird, Aqualad. If they ever got to together, when they kissed (she was actually using another verb here but I'm putting kiss instead) there would be steam!" And I laughed because it's funny if you think about it and that's why Sauna is my ship name for them. But also Better. And also Aquafire. Or Aquaflame. Or something. Anyway, enjoy!_

_P.S. I didn't put crossover for this story because Bette is technically in it and she could still be Flamebird (because we all know Batgirl is coming) and therefore it is still conceivably canon.  
><em>


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